Page 72 of Robbin’ the Rich

I opened my eyes and looked down at her. She had already settled back against my shoulder, comfortable and content in a way that made my chest ache.

The worst part was that I hadn't hidden it because I wanted to deceive her. I'd hidden it because I was afraid. Afraid she would look at me differently. Afraid she would lump me together with everything she hated about Ascension. Afraid that the thing growing between us would disappear the moment she learned.

But sitting there with her hand in mine and her head resting against my shoulder, I realized fear wasn't a good enough excuse anymore.

Robin deserved the truth.

She deserved the chance to decide what she thought of me with all the facts.

And as I held her a little closer, I finally admitted something to myself that I'd been carefully avoiding for weeks. I was worried because somewhere along the way, without meaning to, I'd started falling in love with her. And losing that was a terrifying prospect.

16

MICAH

Sunday morning arrived with all the grace and elegance of a brick through a window. I woke to sunlight pouring through the living room curtains and the sound of Robin groaning from somewhere beneath a mountain of blankets. For a few disoriented seconds, I couldn't remember why I was sleeping on the couch.

A muffled noise emerged from beneath the blanket.

I smiled.

"Don't,” she said.

I laughed despite myself.

The blanket shifted just enough for one bloodshot eye to appear. "I heard that smile."

"That's not a thing," I said.

"It is when you're hungover."

The eye disappeared again.

I stood and stretched, still grinning. Robin looked miserable, but she looked comfortable too. It was a combination only she could pull off.

The answer to a hangover this severe wasn't coffee. Coffee was for people who still had some dignity left. This called for a large Coke, a Big Mac, and enough fries to absorb a regrettable amount of alcohol. By the time I'd placed a DoorDash order, Robin had managed to sit upright, though she looked deeply unhappy about it. I handed her a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen, which she accepted with surprising obedience.

"I'm never drinking again." Robin glared at me over the water bottle. "Why aren’t you this hungover?"

“Because I’m not the one who got shitfaced last night.”

The doorbell rang twenty minutes later. As I handed her a large coke and some fries, she looked like I’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket. We settled back onto the couch with McDonald’s, and for a little while the world narrowed to fries, greasy burgers, and blessed silence. Robin stole from my carton despite having her own. I didn't bother commenting on it. Some habits were apparently inevitable.

My phone buzzed against the coffee table. Then it buzzed again. Then again.

I glanced down long enough to see Mom's name flash across the screen before I flipped it face down and returned my attention to the food. I would not be going in this morning. My feelings regarding the church were becoming more untenable with each passing day. If I had to choose between the church and Robin, I would choose her every time. And yes, part of it was because of how much I liked her… but mostly it was because of how much I liked myself when I was with her.

Robin noticed immediately. "You're not going to answer that?"

"No, I’m not."

"That seems healthy."

"Eat your fries."

"Deflection."

I smiled into my drink.